


These Three

by tabi_jeff



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, De-Aged Castiel (Supernatural), Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2021-01-04 12:02:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21197345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tabi_jeff/pseuds/tabi_jeff
Summary: It was a cold winter night, and there was a knocking at the door.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the [Dean/Castiel Xmas Exchange over on LJ](https://deancas-xmas.livejournal.com/) in 2011.
> 
> Set after 7x02.
> 
> I took the prompt for Cas being de-aged and the Winchesters looking after him, included lots of Sam, some fluff, some h/c, and some angst and I hope it came out as something you'll enjoy! Thanks for the great prompts, and thanks to C. for the betaing.

Wisconsin in December was a shitty place to be. Freezing temperatures and blizzards, roads blocked with feet of snow and electricity down across what felt like half the frigging state. All of it meant that Dean and Sam were stuck in some back-end hole of a motel with no way to get _out_, shivering because the heating had been installed in the Fifties or something and just about managed to warm the room to slightly above unbearable. The phone lines were down and even their cell phones had shitty reception. Even though it was only a few days to Christmas most of the shops and diners were closed and Dean was _hungry_. They had coffee, at least, and Dean had made it even better with the addition of a healthy amount of whiskey. He ignored Sam's looks, focusing on the T.V. even if he wasn't actually listening, not caring what was on because it was all crap and they were stuck here. Had been stuck here for two days. There were several feet of snow piled up outside and it was still coming down, falling slow and silent and never-ending.

They'd meant to go see Bobby's- not for Christmas or anything because that was something Dean wanted to ignore- but because he'd heard some kind of information about the Leviathans' movements and wouldn't tell them about it over the phone. And now they were trapped by the worst weather this century, or so all the news channels were all saying, and that was something not even the Winchesters could fight against. Dean hoped that the freak weather would slow down the Leviathans too, whatever their plan was. He hoped they wouldn't be too late to stop them.

It wouldn't have been so bad, Dean guessed, with nothing to do but watch T.V. and drink if he wasn't so fucking cold, and he wasn't worrying about his car, locked up somewhere so that he had to rely on some piece of junk. When bad shit just kept right on happening and Dean couldn't do anything to stop it, and when all he dreamed about when he was too bored or too drunk to stay awake anymore was Cas.

If there was one thing Dean didn't want to think about, that was it, but Cas was always there in his dreams saying he was sorry and saying he would make it up to them and how the fuck was Cas going to make anything up to him when he was fucking dead?

Sometimes Dean imagined he heard Cas whispering that he wasn't dead, that he'd come back, like he always did.

Once, Cas had said, _I always come when you call_, but Dean didn't dare try it.

***

It was late, or early, or whatever. It was kind of hard to tell either way because it was never really light out anymore anyway, the heavy snow blotting out the sky to a dull gray. Blinking his eyes open, groggy from alcohol and lethargy and bad sleep - Dean couldn't work out which - something had woken him up.

In the bed to his right Sam slept mostly peacefully. Dean couldn't see much of his brother for all the blankets piled on top of him leaving not much more than a flop of hair on white pillow.

Outside there was no sound of traffic, nothing at all beside the soft hiss of snow fall. It was creepy, like the world had disappeared in the time since he'd fallen asleep watching some crappy repeat of a movie he knew he'd watched a dozen times but would never have been able to say what happened in it. Then, there was scratching, at the door, a scraping sound like something shuffling through snow. Probably some unlucky animal stuck out in the cold. Poor bastard.

Dean turned over, away from the door, pulling his own multitude of blankets and comforters over his ears, trying to block out the cool night air and the noise.

It wasn't even that loud, Dean thought, but it was _irritating_. Grating on his nerves, and something else, like he knew it was something more, something important, but he really didn't want to get out of bed. He didn't want to have to deal with premonitions or _feelings_, but every instinct told him this was something he had to do.

He ignored it. He ignored the sound. And he kept ignoring right up to the point he felt his teeth gritting against the sound, like fucking nails across a chalkboard. Whatever it was, Dean decided, he would kill it. Put them both out of their misery.

It was an old habit to sleep with a knife under his pillow, one that he'd had pretty much his entire life, and right at that moment he was glad for it because it meant he didn't have to go searching around in the dark and the cold.

Getting up, Dean didn't bother being quiet, cursing under his breath when his feet hit the floor because it was _freezing_. Leaving the warmth of his covers wasn't any better and Dean could feel his muscles tensing and his teeth chattering as he made his way over to the door. Sam, the asshole, slept on, unconcerned.

The cold had to have slowed his senses because it was only then that Dean considered that whatever was outside the door might be a threat. They'd salted the doors and windows and maybe it was something trying to get in. Except the sound didn't exactly suggest something large or aggressive. But Dean knew better than most that appearances could be deceiving.

He approached the door cautiously, clicked the lock over slowly.

What he saw when he pulled the door open wasn't anything he could ever have expected.

"Shit," he swore, made to move forward but then stopped, cautious again.

On the doorstop lay a boy, no more than five, maybe six. The kid had curled in on himself, knees drawn up to his chest. His dark, messy hair and dark suit were a stark contrast against the white of the snow. Worse, he had no shoes and from what Dean could see he was soaking wet. His hand was outstretched towards the door and Dean could see his fingers were red, raw. There was blood on his shirt.

Nothing, Dean thought, nothing supernatural could ever look this miserable and helpless. And the kid was shaking like crazy and Dean couldn't just let him lie there, freezing to death. He had to take the chance that this wasn't something out to kill them, that this was just some unlucky kid because there was no way Dean could shut the door and turn away from this. He'd never forgive himself if this was a human kid.

Deep, deep down the kid's face and hair and the suit reminded him of Cas, but that was something Dean was ignoring.

"Hey," Dean said, kneeling in the snow beside the kid, reaching out to touch his shoulder. The blood worried him. As he'd thought, the clothes were soaked through and Dean could smell stagnant water, rotting plants. It was hard not to wonder where the hell the boy's parents were, what had happened to him. It didn't escape Dean's notice that there was no sign of disturbed snow anyway but where the boy lay. No footprints. It was possible they'd been covered over by the still heavy snowfall, but the white surface looked pristine and untouched around the stoop.

He brushed snow off the boy's shoulder, off the side of his face and from his hair. He was shockingly cold, his face almost as pale as the snow and his lips a frightening blue. Dean stripped off his own jacket and wrapped it around the kid's shoulders, pulling him into his arms. The kid barely responded at all and that made up Dean's mind. He had to get the kid warm and dry before he worked out where the fuck he'd come from.

The boy weighed hardly anything when Dean lifted him, hurrying into the room and slamming the door behind him.

"Sam," he called. "Get up. Turn on the lights."

There was sleepy complaining from Sam's bed, but his brother reached out and switched on the lamp anyway and the room was thrown into a low, dulled orange hue.

By the time Sam had sat up, rubbing at his eyes, Dean already had the kid out of the sopping jacket and pants. He rubbed at the boy's feet, worried about frostbite and circulation.

"What the-" Sam started, blinking at Dean and the kid.

"Get some towels. Now," Dean cut him off. He'd explain later. Not that he actually knew anything himself, but the most important thing now was keeping the kid alive. "Come on," he encouraged, trying to get some reaction. "You're gonna be fine."

Dean could feel the kid's breath against his hands as he checked for injuries, could feel his pulse beating way too slow at his neck. It was the only indication Dean had that the kid was even alive until his eyes opened. They were little more than narrow slits but Dean could clearly see bright blue eyes. They stared unblinkingly at Dean and it was so familiar it _hurt_.

"I've gotta get you warmed up, okay?" Dean said, trying to sound soothing and completely not scary. Not that the kid looked afraid of him at all.

Instead, the kid reached out to him and in a small, croaking voice called, "Dean," and Dean froze.

"You can't-" Dean started. "You're not-" Because Cas was _dead_. "Who- What are you?" he demanded.

It was hard to miss the way the kid- or whatever the fuck this thing was- dropped his arms from where he'd been trying to get a hold of Dean. His teeth chattered and his eyes- Jesus his _eyes_\- closed again like it was too much effort to keep them open.

"Hey." Dean shook the kid gently. "Wake up. Tell me-"

And then there was Sam with an armful of crappy thin motel towels. His hair was a mess and his eyes red, blinking and very obviously still trying to wake up and work out what the hell was going on. "Towels," he interrupted.

"Shit," Dean swore. He had no clue what to do, but if there was one thing Dean knew he couldn't let this kid die, whatever it was.

He took the towels from Sam and started wrapping them around the boy's legs, instructing Sam to dry the kid's hair and face. Dean undid the buttons of his blood-spattered shirt and what he saw made him stop dead, shocked.

"Sam," he said, and something in his voice must have told Sam something was wrong because his head snapped up, following Dean's gaze to the kid's chest.

There, formed of thin white scars, was a pattern Dean recognized as the one Cas had cut into himself. An angel banishing spell. As much as Dean wanted to believe it wasn't true, and at the same time wanted it so freaking badly to be true, he didn't understand at all how this _kid_ could be Cas.

"Shit," Sam echoed, but he didn't seem to have any problem accepting it at all.

He looked to the kid's face, placed a hand over one of his pale cheeks and called, "Cas. Man. Is that you?"

The kid opened his eyes again and they looked sad and worn and he said, "Sam," and the utter relief in the boy's voice was enough to convince Dean that this kid couldn't be anyone else but Cas.

***

It took a long time, too long, to get Cas to the point where his lips had gone from a frightening blue to a less deathly pale. They dried him, rubbing at his chest and legs and arms and drying his hair until he stopped shivering quite so badly. A couple of times Cas opened his eyes and looked at Dean and then Sam and back to Dean again and tried to say something, but Sam shushed him and Cas didn't seem to have the energy to protest.

They wrapped him up in their blankets and Sam tried to coax some more life out of the ancient heating. When that didn't work he made Cas some kind of foul-smelling green tea from his new and bulging collection of healthy grass drinks. Cas, at least, seemed to like it, sipping greedily. All Dean could think was what the fuck they were going to do if Cas was human. If Cas was a kid now and would grow up like any human. Right then, Cas didn't even have the strength to hold up the mug and that left Dean with Cas bundled up on his lap carefully tipping lukewarm tea into his mouth, his lips that had always looked dry cracking so badly now they bled. It reminded Dean of looking after Sam was he was sick and Dean didn't know if he could do that all over again. They had leviathan to fight. They lived a life on the road and no kid deserved that. Dean ought to know.

Except for all that Cas hadn't said much Dean was almost certain he was still the Castiel they knew, with at least some of his memories intact. He knew them, recognized and trusted them both, and there was way too much sadness, too many years behind his eyes. And guilt. Whenever he looked at Dean there was shame and apology and it was exactly the same look Cas had given him that night in Crowley's lab when this whole fucked up mess should have been finished with. Cas should've been okay.

"Do you think we need food? Cas might need to eat." Sam fussed and it might've annoyed Dean if it hadn't made Cas look somewhere between pleased and amused as he watched Sam stalk around the room trying to find things to do.

"It's the ass-end of night. Nothing's gonna be open. Not in this weather."

"I still have some-" Cas tried to say, and even as a kid his voice was too low and too rough, but maybe that was just the fact that he'd been lying outside in the snow without any shoes for who the fuck knew how long. "I'm not human."

"Okay. Okay." Dean rubbed at Cas's shoulder reassuringly, and it should've felt weird but it wasn't. This was _Castiel_, an angel of the Lord who was maybe five billion years older than Dean and had been to Hell and done some really fucked up things, but here was Dean more or less hugging him. It was to keep Cas warm, Dean assured himself. It wasn't because he was cute as hell and really looked like he needed it, like Sam had when he was five and missing Dad or hungry or sick. "But you're not exactly... at your best," Dean pointed out.

Which was an understatement but Cas was restless and agitated, sometimes squirming in Dean's lap when he had the energy, and there was pain in his too-old eyes. Dean was pretty sure it was his feet that hurt him. They'd been so cold Dean had been afraid of frostbite. Sam had wrapped Cas's feet in three pairs of his own way too big socks and they'd just have to wait and see. It was unlikely Cas would be walking anywhere anytime soon. Dean knew from experience that getting feeling back in frozen limbs _hurt_.

Cas just stared at Dean, or what passed for staring when his eyelids kept drooping closed. He might still be an angel- and Dean didn't doubt it because Cas was warming up faster than any human kid would've- but he very obviously needed rest.

The weirdest thing was how wet Cas's eyes looked, like he was on the verge of crying, full of misery and discomfort and that was not like Cas at all.

"No," Cas admitted. He looked like he wanted to say more.

"It's cool," Dean shrugged and held Cas tighter, wrapped in a cocoon of Dean's sweater and Sam’s socks and blankets. "We all have shitty days. Just, y'know, try to get some sleep."

"Angels don't sleep," Cas stated automatically, but then he frowned and turned his face to press against Dean's chest. "But I'm so tired. I never felt this tired, before."

It wasn't hard to guess that Cas was talking about when he'd been mostly human, back when there'd been an apocalypse and Dean had no doubts that he could trust Cas with anything.

"And I don't understand what I feel. I want to _cry_." Cas said it like it was the most distasteful thing in the universe. "And I'm angry at everything and my stomach hurts with- I don't know."

Cas sniffed and pressed his face more tightly against Dean's shirt and Dean wondered if he really was crying now and what the fuck he should do. If it was Sam he'd know; hug the kid, pet his hair, tell him it was okay. But this was Cas and Dean didn't know where they stood or what Cas would accept. Sam didn't seem to have the same problem, sitting down next to them on the bed heavily and laying a hand gently on the top of Cas's head.

"You remember everything, right?" Sam asked gently and Cas nodded, face still hidden. "Then maybe you're experiencing emotion like a little kid because that's the vessel you're in, and it's just temporary."

Dean didn't know if Sam was bullshitting to calm Cas down or if he meant it, but he looked sincere. As cute as Cas was Dean really hoped this was only temporary.

Sniffing again, Cas turned to look at Sam and Dean could see his eyes were red and puffy. "Sam," he said. "I'm sorry."

"What for, man?" Sam smiled and rubbed Cas's hair lightly. Cas didn't seem to mind.

"For breaking your wall. And for not bringing you all back. And for-" Cas's voice was growing strained, almost frantic so Dean cut in, "Cas, stop," and was surprised when Cas immediately fell silent.

"We'll talk about stuff tomorrow." Cas was starting to shiver again in his arms and Dean didn't think it was from the cold anymore. Yeah, there was a lot of shit they had to go through, not least what the fuck had happened to Cas that he was now a five year old. It was obvious it was still _Jimmy_, just with a face far too young for the sadness and guilt of his expression. But it was late and they were all tired and Dean didn't think any of them were up to working through that crap. "There's nothing we can do right now." He started gathering the comforters and blankets Cas wasn't mummified in, maneuvering Cas into the middle of the bed. "Sam," he ordered. "Get your shit together and get in the other side. It's too frigging cold in here."

Sam obeyed without argument, which might've been a miracle if he didn't look ready to fall asleep where he sat, and if Cas's teeth hadn't started chattering again. Figuring that if Cas didn't mind Sam stroking his hair he wouldn't mind Dean holding onto him, Dean arranged them into a position where Cas had half of Dean's covers over him, his arms wrapped around Cas. Sam did the same, his stupid huge body taking up way more than half the bed. There wasn't really room on the crappy old motel bed for three people, even if one of them was pint-sized, but it was warmer than Dean had felt all night.

"Dean-" Cas tried, and Dean could hear the doubt in his voice. He couldn't see anything more of him than a vague outline now that Sam had switched off the lights, but he could tell Cas had turned to face him.

Dean pulled him closer.

"Whatever it is, Cas, it's okay," Dean told him. For all the crap that had gone on between them having Cas back and alive meant more than any of it.

It was the warmest Dean had felt in months.

***

The morning brought the same gray sky and the same endlessly falling snow but somehow the whole damned world was a different place; not quite so shit. Not quite so bleak.

Dean drank Sam's crappy instant coffee. He'd never admit to anyone it was because he'd seen the way Cas looked at the half empty bottle of whiskey on the bedside table.

A part of Dean- a really loud and insistent and well-practiced part- told him that this wouldn't last. That sooner or later something would happen and take all this away again. This time though Dean wasn't going to let Cas out of his fucking sight. He would do everything he could to _keep_ this.

It had taken Cas a long time to fall asleep; he'd shifted and fidgeted against Dean for half the night but eventually he'd slept. Even then he was restless and Dean had rubbed the back of his neck like he used to do with Sam when he'd had bad dreams. Dean obsessively checked Cas's forehead and his cheeks to see if he was warming up at all. It was easier to be like this, to treat Cas like he was the five years old of his body, when his eyes were closed and he was silent. Like any kid the proximity, the gentle touches, seemed to help him settle. It was dawn before Dean had fallen into something approaching sleep himself, and he didn't think Sam had slept much better if the three cups of coffee he'd drunk before leaving for the store were any indication.

"Be careful," Dean had warned, throwing him the car keys. He didn't give a fuck about the car but he did care if Sam drove himself into a tree. "Call me if that crap heap breaks down or- whatever." If there was any indication someone had followed Cas. If there was even the vaguest hint of something supernatural. Dean hated that he had to let Sam go out alone but someone had to stay with Cas because he was deeply asleep now and still pale and sickly-looking. And because he looked five. They couldn't take him with them out into the snow and the cold with no clothes, looking so ill.

"I have driven in snow before, Dean," Sam rolled his eyes. "I'll stop at the first place I find. I'll be back as soon as I can."

He'd been gone an hour when Cas started to stir and Dean was totally not resisting the urge to call Sam every ten minutes to check he was okay. A part of him had almost wished the car wouldn't start when Sam had left, but they needed food and clothes for Cas. They wouldn't have bothered if it was just the two of them, too used to cold and hunger, but neither of them were about to take the chance that Cas would be okay without extra help.

Which was how Dean found himself making up one of Sam's gross teas for Cas to drink. It smelled like burned grass. Out of some sick sense of curiosity Dean took a sip, grimacing because it tasted even worse than it smelled. How either Sam or Cas could drink this stuff was beyond Dean.

On the bed Cas opened his eyes blearily, looking around the room in confusion and Dean could see his uncertainty and something close to fear before he met Dean's gaze. Cas blinked.

"Tea," Dean announced, coming over to the bed, slotting himself beside Cas, leaning against the headboard.

Cas stared at the mug in his hand suspiciously. Maybe Cas didn't like it after all.

"I know it's gross, but it'll keep you warm."

"No," Cas shook his head slowly. "I- I'm thirsty."

Dean ignored the helpless despair in his voice. Like always, concentrating on what he could fix right then and leaving the rest to worry about later.

"You're just- sick or something," Dean tried. "C'mon. Drink. You'll feel better."

After helping Cas to sit up, he complied easily enough, fingers wrapping around the mug greedily, seeking the warmth. He leaned heavily against Dean's side. His hair was messed up- even more disheveled than usual- but he seemed stronger at least. When he'd finished the tea Cas was a lot more awake and coherent than he had been the night before, thanking Dean and re-wrapping the blankets around his arms. He didn't attempt to move away and Dean guessed Cas was still cold, or maybe just didn't have the energy.

They sat in awkward silence for long minutes, Dean unsure what to say, not wanting to upset Cas when he was like this, but needing to know what was going on here. There were too many unanswered questions.

Cas must've sensed his discomfort, or maybe he could still read minds or something, because he announced, "I don't know how I came to be here. It's- unclear."

"What's the last thing you _do_ remember?" Dean asked.

"I remember you." Cas looked up at him and his face was so familiar and so different at the same time it was almost too much. "I told you I was sorry. I told you I would make it up to you." Cas frowned. "This is not making it up to you."

"You're alive. I'll take that over dead any day." The honesty of it, the realization of how much he'd kind of lost it over the past months surprised Dean. It surprised Cas too, but it shouldn’t have. Cas should've _known_. "I hate saying this shit- you _know_ I hate saying this shit- but, Cas, you're my friend, and you're Sam's friend." Dean laughed humorlessly. "We've all fucked up, and when we mess things up? We do it with style. So, we know what that's like. I'm pissed. Of course I'm pissed at you. You lied. You did some really shitty things. You didn't _listen_ to me. But I never wanted you gone. You'll always be welcome with me and Sam. You _are_ family, Cas."

There were other things that Dean maybe sometimes wanted from Cas, maybe sometimes thought might be awesome if Cas wanted it too, but right now Cas was in the body of a five year old and Dean couldn't think about any of that. But at least like this it wasn't so weird to put his arm around Cas and pull him closer against his side.

"You said you've still got your angel mojo," Dean said after another long silence where Cas stared at Dean and looked like he might start crying again. "So, are you gonna be able to go back to being, y'know, an adult? Soon?"

Cas's expression turned thoughtful, as though he were looking within himself. "I hadn't considered it," he admitted. "Is it imperative I be an adult?"

Even after knowing Cas all this time, he still managed to surprise Dean with how little he understood humanity, and Dean had to shake his head in disbelief.

"Yeah, Cas. It is," he said. "I dunno if you've noticed but you're one hell of a lot shorter now, for one."

"Any human vessel is far smaller than my true form," Cas shrugged.

"Yeah. No. It's just- weird. Kids don't walk around on their own a lot, or hang out with two guys in seedy motel rooms."

Cas didn't look like he understood why, and was probably filing it away under his collection of inexplicable human behavior information, but to Dean's relief he said, "I think when I have recovered some of my strength I can return this body to the age it was previously. I don't understand how I came to be like this."

Dean didn't know what Cas saw when he looked down at himself, at his thin arms and his feet and legs hidden in Sam's socks, but it wasn't anything good so Dean rubbed a hand against his cheek. The skin there was finally something warmer than freezing.

"But," Cas said, "When I'm like this you and Sam are both far more tactile."

Dean made to pull his hand away, saying, "Sorry Man," but Cas grabbed at his wrist and held him still. "No. I like it," he said.

It was hard not to imagine what this would be like if Cas was an adult, leaning together, warm and comfortable in each other's space. If Cas would still like this then.

***

"You two are adorable," was the first thing Sam said, grinning, when Dean woke up maybe an hour later, wrapped in their blankets and Cas and not having realized he'd even fallen asleep.

"Shut up." Dean's response was automatic, but he kept his voice down because Cas was still asleep and if the black smudges under the kid's eyes were any indication he really needed the rest. He didn't dare move for fear of waking him, instead tucking the comforter more securely around Cas's shoulders. "What did you get?"

"Found a Wal-mart still open a couple towns over." Sam held up his bags. "Got clothes, food and some other stuff."

Dean didn't dare ask what Sam's idea of "other stuff" was so he left his brother to unpack the groceries, and demanded coffee and pie because there was no way Sam would be bastard enough to go out and not buy those things. It had been days since Dean had drunk anything more than the sludge that passed for coffee at gas stations, and he hadn't eaten pie in almost two weeks.

"It was weird," Sam said, rummaging through the cupboards for something. He pulled out an old dented pan and Dean saw soup in all their futures. "The store was full of people buying Christmas stuff."

Sam glanced towards Cas and Dean could easily guess why. The angel never mentioned God anymore. He never spoke of faith or hope or righteousness and Dean knew that the Winchesters had done that to him. They'd dragged Cas into their world where things like that just didn't exist and sometimes Dean wished Cas had never met them. He could've been happy, frolicking around Heaven in ignorance with his dick angel brothers instead on lying over Dean's knees, cold and cut off from everything he'd ever known.

Well, he had them now and kid or not Dean wasn't about to let Cas forget it this time.

Over by the counter Sam was pouring a can of soup into the pot. "I bought cookie mix," he announced. "I thought Cas might like it.

"He's not _actually_ five," Dean pointed out.

"Okay. _I_ wanted to make cookies. If we're stuck here we might as well, you know, enjoy ourselves. Celebrate, now we've got something to celebrate."

Now they had Cas back was what Sam meant and that was something Dean couldn't deny.

"Did he tell you how he ended up here?" Sam asked.

"Says he doesn't remember. He said something about being underwater, maybe, and then cold." In a lower voice Dean added, "He didn't say it but I'm pretty sure he thinks God brought him back again."

"Jesus," Sam said, then seemed to realize what he'd just said and coughed uncomfortably, looking around the room like God himself was going to show up right then and there and smite him. "So. Err. Are we safe from the other angels?"

"I think so." Cas had been vague about that, but when was he ever not? "From what I could tell, they all think he's dead."

From beside him Cas added in a groggy voice, "To them I am dead, even if I live. It's no less than I deserve." He sat himself up, rubbing at his eyes. He shivered where the blankets fell into his lap and it'd become almost normal to reach out to him and pull him close, wrapping his arms around Cas's back. Cas let himself be moved, laying his head easily against Dean's chest.

"It isn't," Dean denied and Cas didn't bother to argue, instead saying, "Hello Sam."

"Hey Cas," Sam smiled. He turned away from the stove where he was stirring the soup. "Sorry if we woke you up."

"It was the smell." Cas pointed to the pan. "I think I'm hungry," he admitted.

Sam paused and Dean knew that look; it was his worried, uncertain face. He covered it quickly, turning back to the motel's kitchen area and opening and closing the cupboards, looking for dishes Dean guessed. "It's not much, but it's warm."

Even if it was just cheap soup out of a can Cas seemed to enjoy it, eating it all with a relish he hadn't seen in him since he'd been under famine's influence, gorging himself on hamburgers.

Sam ate too and forced some on Dean who would rather have had a drink, but sometime between last night and now his bottle had disappeared from the side table. He suspected Sam but now wasn't the time to bitch him out over it.

After they'd eaten and Sam had collected up their chipped bowls, they dressed Cas in the horrors Sam had purchased from the store.

"You couldn't have found something less fuck ugly?" Dean asked, holding the bright neon green t-shirt up to the bedside lamp. It was early in the evening but it was dark enough outside that they had to keep the lights on.

"No, I couldn't." Sam snatched the t-shirt away, pulling it over Cas's head because the poor guy was shivering outside of his layers of blankets and Dean's sweatshirt. Sam had, at least, had the sense to buy a ton of layers and a thick fleece. Dean tried really hard not to laugh at the cartoon socks, and even better Cas's confused expression as he watched Sam pull them onto his feet.

"My old socks did not have faces on them," Cas commented sadly and Dean wasn't sure if he thought all socks should have drawings on them or if he wanted his adult, plain socks back.

Dressed and awake Cas looked pretty much like an ordinary human kid and it was starting to freak Dean out.

They tried to stand him upright, get him moving around but he was unsteady and grimaced when any weight was put onto his feet.

"Okay," Dean conceded. "Maybe not yet."

He rubbed at Cas's feet as he lay with his back against the bed panting softly, even that little exercise exhausting him. "I guess you're not gonna be up to being all Angel of the Lord for a while." Dean grinned to show he was teasing and was glad when Cas gave him a wan smile in return, falling asleep again soon after.

This time he slept peacefully for the first time since he'd shown up on their doorstep and Dean was relieved Cas was finally getting some real rest. It occurred to Dean that he, too, felt like he could sleep without the weight of guilt and loss, without the help of a bottle of whiskey.

There was no ignoring that there was still a shit load of crap they had to deal with, but with Cas alive it seemed a lot less impossible and pointless.

When Cas woke up it was evening and Sam had turned the TV on low, watching some kind of travel show and outside the snow had finally stopped. He stayed with Cas on the bed, Cas's head laying against his thigh, his hands tucked up under Dean's leg for warmth. Maybe it was weird and stalkery but Dean hadn't been able to do anything but watch him sleep, keeping a hand running gently through his freakishly soft hair. It was a miracle that Sam hadn't laughed at him for it.

"You're very comfortable," Cas commented with a yawn, seeing Dean leaning over him. Of course Cas would think the staring thing was normal.

"Right. Thanks." Dean really had no other reply to that.

"You want some water or tea or anything?" Sam offered Cas, and Dean could just see the asshole was smirking at him now.

"I liked the tea," Cas said. Dean might've guessed he'd appreciate Sam's healthy weird-ass drinks. Sam looked smug.

Somehow, Sam convinced Cas that he wanted to try making the cookies, feeding him bullcrap about it being a human tradition and that Dean really loved eating them and that it was really awesome fun. Unsurprisingly they managed to make a mess of every worktop and every plate and spoon. Not being able to reach the table tops, or even able to stand for very long, Dean sat Cas on the surface beside the room's microwave and marveled at how Cas spread havoc all around himself but didn't get a single speck of cookie dough or flour over his new, garish clothes. Maybe his angel-aura repelled dirt like his old suit and coat had done. No matter how many times Dean had seen Cas bleed over them, seen them cut up or burned or torn, they'd always been fixed by the time Dean saw Cas again.

Thinking of Cas's old suit reminded Dean that he still carried Cas's trench coat in his duffel. He wondered if Cas would want to see it, if he'd think it was weird that Dean had kept it, not wanting to even let it out of his sight for long. For so many months Dean had thought it was all he had left of Cas.

Keeping a watchful eye over Cas's stirring, Sam was saying, "They're easy to make. Dean used to make them with me when I was a kid." He dipped his finger into the mix and Dean snorted at Cas's scandalized look. "You're supposed to eat the dough," Sam explained, demonstrating.

Cas didn't look convinced, arguing, "It's raw," and refusing to try any.

Despite only having a toaster oven, the cookies came out more than edible and they ate them for dinner, watching TV and drinking juice.

"I called Bobby," Sam announced, biting into his third cookie of the night. They'd taken to sitting on Dean's bed, Cas between the two of them, with the covers pulled up over them again because there was no getting the heating to work, no matter what they tried. Cas had icing all around his mouth and Dean rubbed it off with his sleeve. "He says hi, and he's glad you're back, Cas. We both thought Dean was kind of lost without you." Sam's voice was teasing, like it was a joke, but there was seriousness in his eyes that Dean was going to ignore.

Cas didn't miss it either. "I will endeavor not to leave again," he nodded gravely, and Dean really fucking hoped he meant that. But he was still Dean Winchester and he had a reputation to uphold.

"Shut up, both of you," he scowled and turned his attention to skipping through all the TV channels continuously just because he knew it pissed the hell out of Sam.  



	2. Chapter 2

A loud banging startled Dean out of sleep. His first instinct was to reach for his gun but his hands came up empty. He cursed himself, trying to remember where he was and why his gun wasn't under his pillow where it should've been. His head didn't swim with the dizziness of a heavy night of drinking so he hadn't passed out. Beside him he could feel a small weight pressed against his side and that's when Dean realized that this was Cas, in the body of a child, and there was something trying to beat down the door.

There was a crashing sound outside and on the other side of Cas, Sam woke up suddenly, sitting bolt upright and blinking at the dark room around him urgently.

"What is it?" he whispered, seeing Dean already awake.

His gun and his knife, Dean remembered, were still in his bag across the room. He pushed away the covers and made his way over to the open duffel. "I dunno."

"Demons," Castiel told them, and he sounded certain. "They are demons."

"We salted the door right?" Sam asked and Dean froze, because he hadn't redone the line after he'd dragged the half-frozen Cas into the room.

"Only if you did," Dean said cautiously. From Sam's, "Fuck," in response he guessed that was a no and he would berate them both later for being complacent idiots, but right now he had more important things to focus on. It was just lucky they'd all decided to go to bed fully clothed, because of the cold, because right then the door splintered and the eerie orange of the parking lot street lamps flooded into the room. Dean ran for his bag, calling to Sam, "Stay with Cas. Turn the lights on."

For a second the brightness was almost blinding and Dean had to squint against the glare, shoving his gun into his belt and pulling out salt and holy water. They would be much more effective against demons than bullets. He didn't dare look back to see if Sam was armed, if he had Cas safe. Dean trusted Sam to look after himself.

At least, Dean thought, they weren't Leviathan. That would have made things a whole lot more complicated. It was bad enough that, somehow, demons had found them. There was no way them showing up the day after a weakened Cas came back was any kind of coincidence.

There was no more time to figure it out though because a guy who looked like he'd just stepped out of a wrestling ring was fighting his way through the door. Dean didn't give it a chance to get any further than one step in over the threshold before he threw holy water into its face. It screamed and recoiled and its eyes slashed black. Definitely demons. Dean could smell the sulfur in the air.

He didn't get the chance to make a headcount of how many demons were outside because then something crashed through the window beside the door sending glass flying and Dean had to cover his face with an arm. He felt shards pricking at the skin of his hand.

The next thing he knew, a heavy weight barreled into him, knocking him onto his back. Instinctively, Dean reached down for the knife he had stashed in his boot and stabbed the point directly between the demon's eyes. It howled, letting go of Dean as it scrabbled to remove the knife and Dean took the opportunity to roll its body off him and throw salt into its face.

Standing up and taking in the room Dean could see three more demons had poured in to the room and there were a couple more outside. Too many, Dean thought.

Over by the kitchen area Sam and Cas were cornered by them, and Cas was clinging to Sam's legs looking small and afraid, but angry and determined. Sam lashed out, slashing a deep wound into the closest demon. The wound crackled and the demon hissed and took a step back. But in its place the other two rushed Sam, grabbing at his arms. The third reached for Cas and Dean didn't care if there were five thousand of the fucking things. He was going to destroy every fucking one of them.

He pulled out his gun, carefully aimed and would've blown the demon making for Cas's brains out- he knew it wouldn't kill the thing, but it would slow it down- but then the wrestler grabbed him from behind and tossed him straight out the door. Dean landed on cold snow, could feel the wetness of it against his cheek. It was better, he guessed, than landing on concrete.

"We just want the angel." One of the demons crouched down beside Dean, a woman with high heels and tight jeans and a thick southern accent. "We're not here for you," she said. Like that would make any difference to Dean. Trying to take her by surprise Dean grabbed for her ankle and pulled, unbalancing her. She fell back on to the snow but she was laughing.

"Yes," she laughed. "He said you'd be like this."

Dean didn't even see the fist that hit him hard across the face coming, he just knew it fucking _hurt_. Then another punch across the face, then one to the stomach. Under his back the snow was melting and Dean could feel cold, wet dampness seeping through his sweatshirt. He was dizzy, losing concentration, but he had to hold on, think of something and fast because Sam and Cas were outnumbered and Dean had sworn that this time he would protect them. But his gun was gone, he'd used his knife and lost that too. Under his hands the cold snow was making Dean's fingers numb, he dug into it thinking, it was water, blessing it even as he felt his nose break, felt hot blood on his lips.

Before he could shove the snow in the demon's face the hands holding him down were suddenly gone; a flash of light so bright it burned his eyes, a screaming sound, and then hands- smaller hands- grasping at his shoulders.

"Dean," he heard. Dean!" Cas's voice, Dean recognized and tried opening his eyes but they felt heavy, swollen shut. He wanted to answer, to make sure Cas was okay, to ask where Sam was but it took all his concentration just to stay conscious. Then, there were hands on his face, cold, resting carefully on his cheeks and in the next second the pain was gone, the weight and the feeling of wanting to puke vanished. Dean opened his eyes to see Cas leaning over him, looking down at him in concentration.

"Cas," Dean frowned, because he sure as hell didn't think he had the energy to spare to heal others when he couldn't even heal himself.

A shadow fell over them and Cas was yanked away. Dean scrambled to his feet, unable to do anything as another demon, a short guy in a cheap suit and a bright, yellow tie, lifted Cas bodily up by his collar and threw him against the motel wall. There was a sickening sound as he impacted and Dean hoped like hell Cas hadn't broken anything. Either way, the fucker who'd done it wasn't going to get the chance to hurt Cas anymore. Dean was on him in an instant, furious, tearing at the guy's douchy hair and pulling at his tie. The ferociousness of his attack took the demon by surprise and it was almost easy for Dean to swing his opponent around and knock him down, pressing him face down into the snow Dean had blessed. Its flesh hissed and the demon howled and struggled and Dean held him down until he saw smoke pouring from its ears, bleeding out into the night air. Looking over his shoulder Dean could see Cas, slumped and motionless against the wall and he cursed, wishing for a knife, wishing for this demon to not have stopped kicking so that he could _really_ make the asshole suffer.

He made to get up and go to him but the high-heeled demon moved between him and Cas, somehow steady on her feet even in the thick snow and slippery ice. She brandished a knife of her own, looking between Cas and Dean, trying to decide which to go for. Back inside the motel room Dean could hear the sounds of a fight; Sam, Dean guessed.

"You should've just let us have him," she hissed. "We'll get him in the end anyway."

"Like fuck you will, bitch." It was easy to rush her, to let his fury that demons would dare fuck with his family propel him forward, knocking her off her expensive heels, spitting out an exorcism and enjoying every second of it, watching as she writhed and snapped at him and struggled. When he was done, when it was over and her body had gone still, Dean let himself lay there for a second, breathing heavily, panting for air. It was quiet except for the crunch of snow and Sam's voice calling, "Cas! Come on, man. Wake up!"

Collecting himself, without a single look back, Dean went over to them; his brother and his best friend who at the moment looked like a sick five year old. Sam had a hand pressed against Cas's forehead, bright blood under his fingers. Cas was bleeding sluggishly from his nose too, and his cheek and chin were grazed and bruised. Dean kneeled down in the snow beside where Sam had Cas pulled up onto his lap, wiped away the blood from Cas's nose with the sleeve of his shirt.

"All dead?" Dean asked and Sam replied, "Yeah. Cas exorcised a couple, or whatever it is he does."

"We gotta get out of here," Dean said. "Do you- do we need to take Cas to a hospital or something?" It was pretty much the last thing Dean wanted to do if there were demons after Cas's hide, but he would if he had to, and Cas was so frigging pale Dean was almost certain there wasn't much choice. But then Cas's eyelids fluttered and he groaned softly, trying to turn his head away from Sam's hands.

"It's okay," Sam soothed. "Just hold still. It's okay. It's just me and Dean."

Cas subsided, opening his eyes blearily and Dean didn't like what he saw.

"Concussion," he guessed. He'd seen it enough times, had them enough himself to recognize them easily.

"I'm fine," Cas tried but his voice was thin and almost too quiet to hear.

"Yeah, sure," Dean scoffed. Around them lay a whole bunch of dead demons, the window smashed, what remained of the door hanging from its hinges and it was a miracle no one had come out to see what the hell was going on. Or else the demons had already killed anyone else in the vacinity who might've come to interfere.

It was starting to snow again, a fine layer of white blanketing the wreckage of the fight. Cas's teeth were starting to chatter. "Sam, get our stuff," Dean ordered, taking Cas from Sam's arms, lifting him up easily. "I'll get Cas settled in the car."

Sam gave him a knowing smile but nodded, "No problem," and disappeared back into the room.

It was never not going to be freaky, Dean thought, being able to carry Cas like this, cradled in his arms. He dabbed at the cut on his head, following Sam through the wrecked doorway. The blood had slowed but it would need cleaning and covering, but luckily no stitches. Cas was shivering in his arms so Dean gathered up a bunch of the motel's crappy blankets and wrapped them around him. He snagged a couple of the pillows too before taking Cas out to the car. Sam threw their bags into the trunk before hurrying back to the room.

They needed to work out how the demons had known where to find them, and only Cas could answer that, but he didn't look in any state to be doing much of anything. They'd just have to run, for now. They had plenty of practice at that.

"Stupid angel," Dean scolded, carefully laying Cas on the back seat, head on the stolen pillows. "You shouldn't have wasted your mojo on me." If Cas had been paying attention to himself rather than Dean he'd be okay and Dean wouldn't be freaking out that Cas couldn't quite seem to focus on him.

"Not a waste," Cas said, closing his eyes.

Sam was loading up the last of their crap, shut the trunk and came round to give Dean his gun and knife. He had another couple comforters in his arms. "Get in the back with him." He shoved the comforters at Dean. "I'm driving."

Dean didn't argue.

***

In the end they just drove until dawn. If Dean had his way they'd have gone to the hospital to get Cas checked out, but the suggestion of going anywhere near human doctors seemed to freak the fuck out of Cas to the extent that it was better for all of them that they kept on moving.

Cas said, "I don't like hospitals," and wouldn't say anything else about it, turning to face the back of the seat and hiding his head under the blankets. For an angel who was at least several millennia old, he managed to do an awesome imitation of a little kid. Dean couldn't help but wonder what had happened to Cas in that hospital in Louisiana after the showdown with Zachariah. Maybe it just reminded him of being defenseless and alone and _human_.

He submitted to Dean cleaning up his forehead, covering it with a band-aid and resisting the urge to dig one out covered in dinosaurs or something. He ate unhappily and only because Dean nagged for an hour. Getting Cas to drink the juice Sam had brought with them was easier but he didn't relish any of it.

"I don't require sustenance," he argued again and Dean ignored him. Even Cas didn't sound like he believed it.

The sun hadn't long risen when Sam had to pull over to relieve himself and to stretch his legs. They hadn't driven as far as Dean would've liked but the roads were icy and the snow made speed impossible. It would have to be enough.

It was only then that Cas seemed to have noticed, "This isn't your car."

"No." Dean didn't like to think of the Impala, hidden under a tarp, locked away and alone. He hoped she wasn't too cold, that she wasn't wet and rusting when Dean wasn't there to do anything about it.

"I have missed many things," Cas frowned. He looked ridiculously cute half-buried under a mountain of covers, his black hair a stark contrast to the white of the pillows he lay on and staring at Dean so seriously.

"She's just in hiding," Dean shrugged seeing Cas's worry, and who the hell would ever have imagined an angel understanding the importance of a guy's car. "Like us."

"I'm glad," Cas said. "That your car is... well." He looked confused at his own words and Dean couldn't help laughing.

"Thanks," Dean smiled. He patted around where Cas's knees would be. Laid over the blankets wrapped around Cas was his old trench coat, still stained with flecks of black and red but dry. Too big for him to wear but still Cas seemed to like having it close. "I'm gonna take over driving from Sam now so he can get some rest. You should sleep too."

"All I have done is sleep." Cas sounded grumpy and that, too, was kind of adorable.

"Then you shouldn't have fought a bunch and demons three times your size," Dean pointed out, and totally expected Cas's disgruntled, "They are _not_ three times my size."

"Yeah, yeah."

They waited for Sam to return in silence and Dean thought that Cas had fallen asleep again but then, quietly, he asked, "Is Sam alright?"

It was easy to forget, even after only a day of Cas being back with them, how much had happened and how much Cas had missed.

Out the window Dean could see Sam with his arms wrapped around his chest, holding his jacket closed, head down against the icy wind, making his way towards the car.

"He's getting there," Dean replied, and found that he actually believed it.

He patted Cas's bundle of covers again before sliding out of the backseat to swap places with Sam. Within fifteen minutes both Cas and his brother were fast asleep. There were things he needed to ask Cas and they needed to catch him up on the Leviathan things, but just right then Dean was just glad to have most of what he loved in the world safe and breathing in the seat behind him and he drove in silence, not even bothering to turn on the car's crappy radio.

Sam only slept for a couple hours but even then they didn't talk much, not wanting to wake Cas. There wasn't much to say anyway.

Cas awoke even more irritable than before. Dean had the impression he would've fought Sam's attempts to check his concussion if he'd had the strength.

"From where I'm sitting," Dean said to the glaring Cas, "This looks one hell of a lot like a tantrum. I know something about kids and they've usually grown out of them by five. How many years you got on you, Cas?"

It was effective in getting Cas to settle, if not happily.

"I don't know why I want to defy you," Cas admitted. "It serves no purpose."

"Kids do that." It wasn't Cas's fault, he guessed, that he could neither control or understand his emotions. Dean would've been pretty pissed if he had been in that position too. "Something to do with testing boundaries or something."

Sullenly, Cas allowed Sam to press a cold towel against his cheek where the bruises had swollen. That probably wasn't helping his mood either, Dean thought. Like he had against Dean the day before, Cas leaned against Sam's chest and rested there until they had to stop again in the late afternoon at a gas station. They tried coaxing Cas out of the car but he wouldn't go, not wanting to leave the warmth.

Not wanting to leave Cas alone but needed to stand up and breathe fresh air Dean and Sam leaned against the car, drinking hot, crappy coffee from Styrofoam cups and ignoring the gentle snowfall around them.

"We're gonna have to stop for the night," Sam said, and it was something Dean had been worrying about too.

"I know," he said. He looked through the window at Cas, rubbing his eyes sleepily and wincing when he pressed too hard at the bruising there. "We can't stop at a motel."

"We don't know how they found us. Or Cas. Whatever." Sam shrugged. "We need to eat at some point too. Something that isn't cookies."

They'd been eating the cookies Sam and Cas had made the day before all afternoon.

Dean sniffed. "Damn good cookies though."

"Dean," Sam rolled his eyes.

"Y'know what? They'd go really well with coffee." He stuck his head into the car. "Hey, Cas. Did you eat the last cookies?"

"No," Cas said shortly and pointed to the bag in the footwell.

For all Sam's bitching he still ate three.

"We'll spend tonight in the car," Dean decided. Maybe it was just avoiding the issue, but Cas still needed to heal and Dean knew that when they started talking, when they started asking questions the peace he'd found in the past couple of days knowing that Cas was alive was going to be lost. When they admitted to weight of the past, let it in, it wasn't going to be easy to let it go again. "Tomorrow we'll work out what the fuck to do."

Dean had expected Sam to argue but he didn't.

"We can survive one night, I guess," he agreed instead, and maybe Sam didn't want to have to face any of that crap either.

They ate chips and nuts and half a bar of chocolate between them for dinner and Sam told them a boring story about some guy he'd met years back who swore the ghost of Abraham Lincoln haunted his bathroom. At least Cas seemed interested. They carefully avoided anything to do with the past few months, or really anything in the past at all.

Sam drove late into the night, trying to find somewhere remote so they'd see anyone coming, but not so remote that they'd get trapped in the car if there was a snowstorm or the crappy thing broke down and there was nothing either of them could do to get it working again. Cas dozed against his side and Dean was relieved to see the bruising and the grazing on his face healing faster now; maybe being warm and resting were helping him out. Helping him recharge. The sooner Cas would go back to being adult and fully charged the easier this would be. But when had anything been _easier_ for the Winchesters?

As Dean's watch ticked over to midnight they decided on an empty lot a couple miles on the outskirts of a small, nondescript town. Sam crawled into the back and the three of them wrapped themselves in every blanket and comforter they had.

"Just a couple hours," Dean said, which wasn't really what anyone could classify as _stopping for the night_ but it was the safest way to keep anyone finding them, and to stop them all freezing to death because now the engine was switched off the temperature inside the car was falling fast. If Dean wasn't imagining things, and he didn't think he was, he would've sworn Cas was _hugging_ him the way he'd wrapped his hands around Dean's side, the way he pressed himself close.

In the silence of the car it wasn't difficult to hear him say, quietly, "Thank you. Both of you."

"You'd do the same for us," Sam said, and Dean couldn't see his face because there was no light out here, but he could tell from Sam's voice that he really meant that. Despite everything, this was one thing Dean could be sure of too and it was a fucking relief.

"As cute a kid as you are, Cas," Dean teased, not ready to let anything get between them yet, "Hurry up and go back to being an adult again. I can't swear or drink with you like this." It wasn't the truth at all and he could tell from Sam's snort that his brother didn't buy it for a second.

Cas, though, shifted against Dean and said, "You think I'm cute?"

It took half a damned hour for Sam to stop laughing and Dean would've been more pissed if it hadn't felt so much like _family_.

***

Dean knew he'd become too used to this.

They didn't hunt so much, because it was kind of hard to hunt with a five year old in tow and no matter how many times Castiel insisted his vessel was small he was still himself and getting stronger every day there was no way Dean was chancing it.

Instead of calling Bobby to ask if he'd picked up any leads, any hunts, Dean called him every day to make sure they were steering away from anything that looked like demons or Leviathan or anything close to supernatural and mean. This he didn't tell Cas about, but from the suspicious, thoughtful looks Castiel had taken to giving him over the bowls and bowls of cereal he liked eating Dean was pretty sure he knew anyway.

And Jesus, the cereal he could get through was frigging epic.

"Maybe it's like crack for angels?" Sam suggested and Dean didn't find the joke even a little funny. He'd seen what Cas looked like high and Dean didn't like to remember it. Sam must've seen something in his face because he added hastily, "At least he chose something that's at least kind of healthy."

They moved on every morning, never staying more than a day anywhere. They learned every hiding spell and sigil they could find, and Cas taught them some that'd never been seen on Earth, and they used them all. It was a shitty life and they were tired from the driving and bored from doing nothing, but it was still kind of cool. Different. Almost a vacation, except for the paranoia of keeping Cas safe and Sam sane.

Dean introduced Cas to every awesome food he could think of, and on the long nights they spent in motel rooms watching Doctor Sexy re-runs Dean patiently explained every back story and character. Cas mostly looked bemused, Sam staunchly ignoring them and doing whatever the fuck he did on his laptop for hours on end. Maybe buying dolls. Who knew.

As they watched, Dean discovered that Cas wasn't interested in any of the medical stuff, not that there was much of that. His expression took on a pinched look at the family plot lines, and he was fascinated by the friendships and romances.

"We should start you on Harlequin," Dean laughed and quickly changed the subject when Cas looked interested.

Their crappy stolen car broke down almost every other day and the skin of Dean's hands became cracked and painful where he had to work outside in sub-zero temperatures, in howling winds, trying to get the thing to move again. The first few times it happened Cas tried to help even though he shivered miserably in the cold. Dean took to locking him in the car, but at the next opportunity he had Cas would take Dean's hands and heal them, no matter how many times Dean told him not to.

"You don't need to do that," Dean sighed even as he enjoyed the warmth in his fingers, the way the prickling cold receded, his joints free of aching and stiffness. His hands were probably in better shape now than they had been in years.

"But I want to," Castiel told him fiercely.

Not once did they talk about what had happened _before_. They caught Cas up on where they were at with the Leviathan situation, which didn't take long because there wasn't much to tell. As creatures from before even the angels Cas had nothing to offer except guilt and regret. Dean knew all about that. It was made worse though because in a child's body Cas had less control over what he was feeling, felt _more_. There weren't so much tears as huge, sad eyes and it was instinct, Dean told himself, an automatic reaction he'd learned raising Sam, that had him pulling Cas into his lap and hugging him when he looked like he needed it. It wasn't like Cas seemed to mind.

They didn't talk about what would happen when Cas was an adult again. Cas was confident it wouldn't be long and Dean believed him. Over the month they spent traveling, moving randomly and leaving as little trail as they could, Cas slept less, ate less, became more confident. But he still clung to Dean, and to Sam, and he still ate cereal and watched crappy TV with Dean so it was all good.

Until it wasn't.

The three of them had formed the habit of sharing a bed, Cas between them. It was never too crowded or too hot- though that was often because their motel room was so frigging cold- except one night Dean woke up hanging half off his side of the bed. One arm had gone numb, trapped under a much heavier weight than Cas. His other arm lay over someone much bigger than a five year old. Dean's first thought was that it was Sam, but the material under his hand felt too crisp and cold to be one of Sam's soft t-shirts. And then Dean opened his eyes and he saw; it was Cas, fully grown, somehow wearing his suit and shirt. He faced Dean, eyes closed, hair mashed against the pillow and sticking up in all directions and Dean froze. On the other side of Cas, Sam was still snoring loudly. Dean kind of hated Cas then because it was over. The comfort he'd found in this. The closeness to Cas. Now Cas was back to being an adult there was no way he would want this anymore. It was hard to let go, and it only became worse when Cas's eyes opened, blinking slowly like he really was waking up. Their eyes met and maybe Cas didn't know he was back to being himself because he smiled at Dean with all the warmth and joy and inhibition of a child.

He reached out the same way he had done almost every day since he'd been back to hold on to Dean's t-shirt and it was then that Cas realized, looking at his own hand like it was a strange, foreign thing.

There was no excuse anymore, no reason to be this close and Dean pulled away, immediately missing Cas's warmth. This was what he'd wanted, he reminded himself. He couldn't look at Cas as a five year old the way he wanted to look at _Cas_, but now that he saw him for the first time in months, looking exactly the same, looking at Dean with the exact same focused stare, it was too much.

There was too much between them like this and Dean turned away, getting out of the bed as quickly as he could.

He ignored the way Cas had still been reaching out for him.

"I guess you're back to normal," Dean said. "You got all your powers?"

There was a long pause and Dean looked back at Cas who was watching him with a blank expression. "Yes," he replied slowly.

Sam was starting to stir, mumbling about the noise and rubbing at his eyes.

Dean swallowed. "You don't need us looking after you anymore then."

Another pause. "I haven't needed looking after for some time."

Dean didn't know what the fuck made him say it, but he couldn't stop himself saying, "Then what are you still hanging around for?"

It was like Dean just wanted it over. He knew Cas was going to leave and everything was going to go back to being complicated and shitty again, and he just didn't want to have to deal with it. He'd said the right thing- the _wrong thing_\- too because the next thing he heard was a flurry of wings, he felt a cold gust of air, and when he turned back to the bed to see Sam pushing himself up onto his elbows with a confused expression on his face, Cas was gone.

***

For nine days Dean had kept his mouth shut. For all of the nine days since he'd last seen Cas, sleep-rumpled and warm but fully grown and uncomfortable in his skin, Dean had tried not to be pissed. He'd tried not to be mad as hell at him for leaving all over again, for not telling Dean what the fuck was going on, for not _coming back_. He tried to ignore how much that hurt because a whole lot of it was his own damned fault.

Sam called him an idiot and told him to just frigging _call_ Cas. It'd been nine days and Dean couldn't wait any more.

"Cas," he said to the night air. "Castiel. Get your ass back here right the fuck now." He _hated_ that he still couldn't be sure Cas would come, even after everything. He hated even more that he was the reason Cas had gone in the first place.

Dean'd had nine days to think about exactly how he should've let Cas hold onto him when he'd reached out. How he should have just manned up and reached right the hell back.

It was a relief to hear the familiar sound of beating wings, and then Cas was standing there, right in front of Dean, too close and his expression too blank and Dean took a step back, scowling.

"Dean," Cas greeted, like it was nothing.

He had no right to be angry, Dean knew that. He was more angry at himself than anything, but still he found himself accusing, "Where the fuck have you been, man? You disappear the second you get your mojo back and that's it? We could've used your help." That last part was only half true, but Cas didn’t need to know that.

It struck Dean as weird how he could see the long sigh Cas breathed out in a swirling mist of warm air. The ice and the snow might finally have started receding but it was still freeze-your-balls-off cold and Dean was beginning to regret choosing the farthest edge of the parking lot of the hotel he and Sam were staying in for this. If he'd had any sense he would have chosen somewhere _inside_, but somewhere along the line it had become habit to call for Cas out in the open air. Maybe he just didn't want anyone else to hear this conversation.

"You made it clear I should leave," Cas said pointedly, and yeah, okay, Dean deserved that. Cas didn't meet Dean's eyes when he said, "You only had to call and I would come."

It was like nothing had changed, like they were at exactly at the same place they'd been months ago when Cas was sneaking around with Crowley and Dean couldn't find the courage to call for Cas just for the sake of hanging out.

Looking at Cas- this Cas, complete with clean, fixed up coat, stubble, sad blue eyes, standing awkwardly in the darkest corner of a parking lot because Dean had called for him- Dean made a decision. It was a decision he should have made months ago. Maybe years ago.

"No, see, we're not doing that shit again." Dean was done making the same mistakes over and over. He was done getting things wrong every single time, tired of missing every chance at having something good because he was too afraid of losing it. "I'm a dick," he admitted. "I didn't mean for you to leave like that. Me and Sam didn't know if you were, y'know, doing okay or whatever."

"My Grace is fully recovered. You don't need to worry-"

"_No_, Cas," Dean interrupted. "I don't need to frigging worry but I do anyway. I'm an ass, but you already knew that. Didn't you listen to anything we said? You're one of us." There was so much more to it than that, but all Dean could say was, "You gotta check in with us sometimes. Jesus. I didn't know if you were coming back."

It was an admission Dean hadn't meant to make but it got Cas to look up and meet his eyes.

"Of course I was, Dean. I meant it when I said I will _always_ come when you call." He smiled wryly. "Even if you are, as you say, an ass."

"Sorry about that," Dean murmured.

Cas met his eyes and Dean couldn't look away because what he saw there was what he saw in the mirror on his own face every time he thought about what it could be like to be _with_ Cas.

Cas must've seen it too because he took a tentative step closer, moving into Dean's personal space. Close enough that Dean could feel the warmth of his body. Or maybe it was warmth of the angel inside that body because it was cold enough that Dean's fingers were starting to prickle painfully. He rubbed his hands together briskly.

Maybe Cas understood this stuff more than Dean gave him credit for. Maybe he didn't have to say it.

Dean licked his dry lips and it was impossible to miss the way Cas's eyes tracked the movement.

It'd been fine when Cas was five and kind of emotional and occasionally clingy. It'd been easy then to be close to him and not think anything like how much Dean _wanted_ Cas. Now he was adult again, now he was himself, and this was a risk. With Cas standing right in front of him, watching Dean as though he were the only thing in the universe it was a risk Dean was going to take.

It took only a small step forward to be right up in Cas's space, chests almost touching. Dean watched Cas watching him as he leaned in, let him see what he was going to do, giving him every chance to stop him or escape or whatever. Dean didn't dare hope that Cas would want this, instead keeping his mind blank, thinking only of the brightness of Cas's eyes despite how dark a night it was, moonless and thick with clouds, the warmth of his breath against Dean's lips, the dryness of his cheeks as Dean brought his hands up to frame Cas's face. Cas didn't draw away. He didn't flinch or look unsure, just let Dean press their mouths together gently and after a moment of doubt where Dean was convinced Cas hadn't actually understood what was going on after all, Cas kissed him back.

It became easier, the two of them sliding together, fitting themselves closer, Cas bringing his arms up to curl around Dean's waist, their tongues meeting lazily, curiously. There was no hurry, none of the crazy lust Dean usually felt when he did this kind of thing. This was different. This was about showing Cas that Dean wanted him around for nothing more than just _being there_.

When they broke apart neither of them went far, close enough that their noses almost touched and Dean could taste Cas's words when he said, "I see."

"It's not just 'cause I want this either." Dean ran his fingers lightly along the sides of Cas's face to his neck, the collar of a coat that had for so long been the only thing Dean had left of _this_. "We don't have to. You can flap away and do your thing, yeah. Me and Sam couldn't stop you even if we wanted to. But I want you to get that you don't have to do everything on your own. Me and Sam want to know what's going on with you." Dean closed his eyes and shook his head. He wanted to say, _That's what got us into this mess in the first place_, but instead settled on, "We work together."

There were issues of trust and mistakes and not _talking_ to each other that they'd barely started to work out, but he wanted to. _God_, he wanted to.

Cas kissed him again and it felt like a promise and an apology and possession. They both did better with actions than words anyway. For now, Cas offered no excuses and no explanations; that would come later because then Cas said, "I didn't-" He paused, started again. "I'll stay."

**End**


End file.
